For many months Frank Willders lay upon his bed unable to move, and
scarcely able to speak. His left leg and arm had been broken, his face
and hands were burned and cut, and his once stalwart form was reduced to
a mere wreck.
During that long and weary time of suffering he had two nurses who never
left him--who relieved each other day and night; smoothed his pillow and
read to him words of comfort from God's blessed book. These were, his
own mother and Emma Ward.
For many weeks his life seemed to waver in the balance, but at last he
began to mend. His frame, however, had been so shattered that the
doctors held out little hope of his ever being anything better than a
helpless cripple, so, one day, he said to Emma:
"I have been thinking, Emma, of our engagement." He paused and spoke
sadly--as if with great difficulty.
"And I have made up my mind," he continued, "to release you."
"Frank!" exclaimed Emma.
"Yes, dear. No one can possibly understand what it costs me to say
this, but it would be the worst kind of selfishness were I to ask you to
marry a poor wretched cripple like me."
"But what if I refuse to be released, Frank?" said Emma, with a smile;
"you may, indeed, be a cripple, but you shall not be a wretched one if
it is in my power to make you happy; and as to your being poor--what of
that? I knew you were not rich when I accepted you, and you know I have
a very, very small fortune of my own which will at least enable us to
exist until you are able to work again."
Frank looked at her in surprise, for he had not used the word _poor_
with reference to money.
"Has mother, then, not told you anything about my circumstances of
late?" he asked.
"No, nothing; what could she tell me that I do not already know?" said
Emma.
Frank made no reply for a few moments, then he said with a sad yet
gratified smile--
"So you refuse to be released?"
"Yes, Frank, unless you _insist_ on it," replied Emma.
Again the invalid relapsed into silence and shut his eyes. Gradually he
fell into a quiet slumber, from which, about two hours later, he awoke
with a start under the impression that he had omitted to say something.
Looking up he found that his mother had taken Emma's place. He at once
asked why she had not told Emma about the change in his fortunes.
"Because I thought it best," said Mrs Willders, "to leave you to tell
her yourself, Frank."
"Well, mother, I depute you to tell her now, and pray do it without
delay. I offered to give her up a short time ago, but she refused to
listen to me."
"I'm glad to hear it," replied the widow with a smile. "I always
thought her a good, sensible girl."
"Hm! so did I," said Frank, "and something more."
Once again he became silent, and, as an inevitable consequence, fell
fast asleep. In which satisfactory state we will leave him while we run
briefly over the events of his subsequent history.
In direct opposition to the opinion of all his doctors, Frank not only
recovered the use of all his limbs, but became as well and strong as
ever--and the great fire in Tooley Street left no worse marks upon him
than a few honourable scars.
His recovery, however, was tedious. The state of his health, coupled
with the state of his fortune, rendered it advisable that he should seek
the benefit of country air, so he resigned his situation in the London
Fire Brigade--resigned it, we may add, with deep regret, for some of his
happiest days had been spent in connection with that gallant corps.
Rambling and fishing among the glorious mountains of Wales with his
brother Willie, he speedily regained health and strength. While
wandering with delight through one of the most picturesque scenes of
that wild and beautiful region, he came suddenly one day on a large
white umbrella, under which sat a romantic-looking man, something
between an Italian bandit and an English sportsman, who was deeply
engrossed with a sheet of paper on which he was depicting one of the
grandest views in the splendid pass of Llanberis. At this man Willie
rushed with a shout of surprise, and found that he answered at once to
the name of Fred Auberly! Fred was thrown into such a state of delight
at the sight of his old friends that he capsized the white umbrella,
packed up his paints, and accompanied them to their inn. Here, on being
questioned, he related how that, while in Rome he had been seized with a
fever which laid him prostrate for many weeks; that, on his recovery, he
wrote to Loo and his father, but received no reply from either of them;
that he afterwards spent some months in Switzerland, making more than
enough of money with his brush to "keep the pot boiling," and that,
finally, he returned home to find that dear Loo was dead, and that the
great Tooley Street fire had swept away his father's premises and ruined
him. As this blow had, however, been the means of softening his father,
and effecting a reconciliation between them, he was rather glad than
otherwise, he said, that the fire had taken place. Fred did not say--
although he might have said it with truth--that stiff and stately Mr
Auberly had been reduced almost to beggary, and that he was now
dependent for a livelihood on the very palette and brushes which once he
had so ruthlessly condemned to the flames!
After this trip to Wales, Frank returned home and told his mother
abruptly that he meant to marry Emma Ward without delay, to which Mrs
Willders replied that she thought he was quite right. As Emma appeared
to be of the same mind the marriage took place in due course. That is
to say, Miss Tippet and Emma managed to put it off as long as possible
and to create as much delay as they could. When they had not the shadow
of an excuse for further delay--not so much as a forgotten band or an
omitted hook of the voluminous trousseau--the great event was allowed to
go on--or, "to come off."
Many and varied were the faces that appeared at the church on that
auspicious occasion. Mr Auberly was there to give away the bride, and
wonderfully cheerful he looked, too, considering that he gave her to the
man whom he once thought so very unworthy of her. Willie was groomsman,
of course, and among the bridesmaids there was a little graceful,
dark-eyed and dark-haired creature, whom he regarded as an angel or a
fairy, or something of that sort, and whom everybody else, except Frank
and Mrs Willders, thought the most beautiful girl in the church. In
the front gallery, just above this dark-eyed girl, sat an elderly man
who gazed at her with an expression of intense affection. His
countenance was careworn and, had a somewhat dissipated look upon it.
Yet there was a healthy glow on it, too, as if the dissipation were a
thing of the distant past. The dark-eyed girl once or twice stole a
glance at the elderly man and smiled on him with a look of affection
quite as fervent as his own. There was a rather stylish youth at this
man's elbow whose muscles were so highly developed that they appeared
about to burst his superfine black coat. He was observed to nod
familiarly to the dark-eyed girl more than once, and appeared to be in a
state of considerable excitement--ready, as it were, to throw a
somersault over the gallery on the slightest provocation.
Of course, Miss Tippet was there in "_such_ a love of a bonnet," looking
the picture of happiness. So was Mr Tippet, beaming all over with joy.
So was Miss Deemas, scowling hatred and defiance at the men. So was
David Boone, whose circumstances had evidently improved, if one might
judge from the self-satisfied expression of his face and the splendour
of his attire. John Barret was also there, and, close beside him stood
Ned Hooper, who appeared to shrink modestly from observation, owing,
perhaps, to his coat being a little threadbare. But Ned had no occasion
to be ashamed of himself, for his face and appearance showed clearly
that he had indeed been enabled to resist temptation, and that he had
risen to a higher position in the social scale than a vendor of
ginger-beer.
In the background might have been seen Hopkins--tall and dignified as
ever, with Matty Merryon at his side. It was rumoured "below-stairs"
that these two were engaged, but as the engagement has not yet advanced
to anything more satisfactory, _we_ hold that to be a private matter
with which we have no right to meddle.
Close to these stood a group of stalwart men in blue coats and leathern
belts, and with sailor-like caps in their hands. These men appeared to
take a lively interest in what was going forward, and evidently found it
difficult to restrain a cheer when Frank took Emma's hand. Once or
twice during the service one or two other men of similar appearance
looked into the church as if in haste, nodded to their comrades, and
went out again, while one of them appeared in the organ loft with a
helmet hanging on his arm and his visage begrimed with charcoal, as if
he were returning from a recent fire. This man, feeling, no doubt, that
he was not very presentable, evidently wished to see without being seen.
He was very tall and stout, and was overheard to observe, in very Irish
tones, that "it was a purty sight intirely."
When the carriage afterwards started from the door, this man--who bore a
strong resemblance to Joe Corney--sprang forward and called for three
cheers, which call was responded to heartily by all, but especially by
the blue-coated and belted fellows with sailor-like caps, who cheered
their old comrade and his blooming bride with those deep and thrilling
tones which can be produced in perfection only by the lungs and throats
of true-blue British tars!
Now, it must not be supposed that this was the end of Frank's career.
In truth, it was only the beginning of it, for Frank Willders was one of
those men who know how to make a good use of money.
His first proceeding after the honeymoon was to take a small farm in the
suburbs of London. He had a tendency for farming, and he resolved at
least to play at it if he could make nothing by it. There was a small
cottage on the farm, not far from the dwelling-house. This was rented
by Willie, and into it he afterwards introduced Ziza Cattley as Mrs
William Willders. The widow inhabited another small cottage not a
hundred yards distant from it, but she saw little of her own home except
at night, being constrained to spend most of her days with one or other
of her "boys."
As the farm was near a railway station, Willie went to town every
morning to business--Saturdays and Sundays excepted--and returned every
evening. His business prospered and so did Mr Tippet's. That
eccentric old gentleman had, like Mr Auberly, been ruined by the great
fire, but he did not care--so he said--because the _other_ business kept
him going! He was not aware that Willie's engineering powers turned in
all the money of that other business, and Willie took care never to
enlighten him, but helped him as of old in planning, inventing, and
discovering, to the end of his days.
There was one grand feature which Frank introduced into his suburban
establishment which we must not omit to mention. This was a new patent
steam fire-engine. He got it not only for the protection of his own
farm, but, being a philanthropic man, for the benefit of the surrounding
district, and he trained the men of his farm and made them expert
firemen. Willie was placed in command of this engine, so that the great
wish of his early years was realised! There was not a fire within ten
miles round them at which Willie's engine was not present; and the
brothers continued for many years to fight the flames together in that
neighbourhood.
As for stout George Dale, and sturdy Baxmore, and facetious Joe Corney,
with his comrades Moxey, Williams, and Mason, and Sam Forest, those
heroes continued to go on the even tenor of their way, fighting more
battles with the flames in six months than were fought with our human
enemies by all our redcoats and blue-jackets in as many years, and
without making any fuss about it, too, although danger was the element
in which they lived, and wounds or death might have met them any day of
the year.
For all we know to the contrary, they may be carrying on the war while
we pen this chronicle, and, unless more vigorous measures are adopted
for _preventing_ fire than have been taken in time past, there can be no
question that these stout-hearted men will in time to come have more
occasion than ever for--fighting the flames.